


Omission

by rainwitch



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Birth, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Medical Procedures, Medical Trauma, Miscarriage, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:20:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23638207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainwitch/pseuds/rainwitch
Summary: The plague may tear the city apart, but that would not stop the game of power and the desires of men to wield it.No matter what consequences fall upon everyone else.Starting a few weeks before the Loyalist Conspiracy, a journey through the dark streets and back alleys of Dunwall and a Marked woman trying to move through a destabilizing world unnoticed.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings all, long time lurking first time posting (for a few years) 
> 
> With the pandemic bringing the day to day to a standstill and feeling a bit too overwhelmed to work on my Ph.D. I've been diving back into the world of Dishonored (perhaps escaping fears around a pandemic into a city falling apart due to plague is a bit on the nose but still hands down my favorite video game series). However, it got my imagination firing and brought a story I've had floating around in my head for a few years to the surface and thanks to having some time and needing a creative escape, it's actually ended up written! 
> 
> So, here goes throwing this out into the void of the internet, hope you enjoy the ride!
> 
> Usual housekeeping: content warning for death, gore, violence, plague, etc  
> Another note is my character is a midwife, so there will be references to miscarriage, stillbirth and all that not so fun stuff

___

Dunwall was a city of sharp edges and unforgiving geometry, but Holger was the most imposing building of all; rising from uneven cobbled streets with its perfect military angles and bright facade never dulling in driving rain and the pitch of the night. She observed it for a moment and was struck by the same thought she had every time she made her journey to the Abby 

“What moron thought putting a huge ledge running the length of the building under the windows was a good idea?” 

This thought often stretched to other design aspects of the building, the way the windows were always open and lacked any kind of shutter, the long corridors with bookcases just tall enough to conceal a shape lurking in the darkness, or the absurd pipes dangling just low enough for someone to slink around if the thought took them. That’s not even to mention the light fittings. Its pretenses at military might were shallow simulacra of it. No one with a strategic mind would have created something so easy to infiltrate. 

No matter how many times she turned this over in her mind she always came back to the same conclusion: hubris. Holger was hubris incarnate, built by men foolish enough to believe they are untouchable so need not guard themselves effectively. Holger wasn’t alone in its hubris, every estate, every townhouse and even a few barracks she had stolen into shared the same flaw; the outward simulacra of power and impenetrability that folded the moment you looked too hard at it. The rich always seemed to believe that if they throw money at guards and have a good family name they’re beyond reach, they aren’t. They never were, it’s just a comforting illusion that made them complacent which ultimately worked well for her. Maybe if thieving grew dull she could consult with architects to make thief-proof houses? As if there is such a thing. 

The path through the ledges and recesses of the building was familiar, as were the Overseer patrols. You could set a watch by them, at this point she spent so much time lurking around that she had begun to tell them apart, small differences in stature and gait and few she could even just about put a name too. The Archives was one of her favorite spots, for an order of zealots the Abby had quite a diverse selection of books (perhaps one too many copies of the Prince of Tyvia for a place that espoused the virtues of chastity) and on more than one occasion she’d spent a whole night reading or if she was feeling a bit mischievous switching dust jackets, moving books around and seeing how long before one of the Archivists noticed. Swapping the belongings of one Overseer from his desk to one of his compatriots was also entertaining. Watching a pair of Overseers almost come to blows over a pen was hilarious, no matter how painful stifling the laughter had been.

The Academy of Natural Philosophy’s library, ironically, was one of the most difficult places to break into and lurk for any period of time. The philosophers with their love of openness and light making it a deeply inhospitable place for someone reliant on shadow to move around. It was also so vast that picking just one title was difficult. Last time she was almost caught for lingering just a bit too long in the anatomy section looking for the titles on midwifery. So, for now, she kept up with excisions into the Abby Archives, plus it was warm and one of the few places in the city that didn’t stink of rot and death, unless some poor unfortunate was in the interrogation room. Nothing was worth having to listen to those screams. Granted, tonight she was keenly aware that she might be one if this was a trap and despite having a reasonable tolerance of fear, that particular one was difficult to swallow. The bells tolled; as much as she wanted to linger in the archives, she needed to be on the roof and she made her way back to the heating pipes. 

***

The meeting spot held a single figure, the patrols seemed normal, if lighter than usual and despite searching she could find no concealed Overseers waiting to spring like a fighting hound on its opponent. Her eyes said safe, her instincts knew better than to believe it fully. The building was at the back of the yard, as far as she knew there was only one route in and that involved climbing onto a balcony from the back hovering a little too close to the cliff, the other door was blocked. It made it as safe as one could be trespassing in a vipers nest. 

The Oracular Sister was keeled over gripping onto the wall, shaking. All the years cloistered and starting into the Void for signs had done nothing to dim Cora’s fear of heights and it was enough to make the thief have to stifle a giggle. 

“Tell me, Sister, don’t the Abby train you to keep composure when faced with a little drop?” 

“Do not push your luck heretic, I maybe dizzy but my sight is always clear and weapon close to hand” the figure clothed in the white uniform of an Oracle said she righted herself and turned to face the thief. She was tall and willowy, the blood-red blindfold making her look more vulnerable than she truly was.  
It was a clever trick of the Order, many thought them blind and weak but they were more perceptive and therefore more dangerous than the Overseers and Watch combined. They didn’t wear their power openly in large bodies and swagger, they played on the perception of their feminine bodies as frail, letting the unsuspecting drop their guard, lured into a false sense of security and when the moment was right, strike with pinpoint accuracy. It was a tactic the thief shared with them, but she took it one step further, better not to be noticed at all. 

“That would be far more intimidating if I knew moving closer to the balcony wouldn’t make you pass out” the thief retorted with a chuckle.  
“I am much better than I used to be” she replied coolly  
“That’s not saying much, you once got stuck on a low hanging branch and burst into tears” the playful mockery in the thief’s tone giving in to out and out mirth.  
“If man were supposed to be that far off the ground we would possess wings. We do not, so make of that what you will” she was trying so hard to keep her composure, she knew what just came out of her mouth was ridiculous but she hoped if she said it with enough confidence the banter would cease. Her companions response quickly shattered that hope.  
“You spend your days telling fortunes and discussing everything from theology, to politics and history. And that’s the best you’ve got?” Now the thief was kneeling forward, this time with laughter, not vertigo.  
All her trained composure dropped and she held her body like a moody child “trying to remember why I even wanted to see you Percy” she huffed crossing her arms only for the thief to bridge the space between them and pull her in for a crushing embrace.  
“You’ve missed me really” the thief into her hair. The Oracular Sister pulled her friend in closer, it had been too long but the familiar smell of bergamot and spices filled her lungs and she fully relaxed, it’s as if they were just girls again in a life before they were both dragged away from each other. Persephone relaxed, felt some of the fear leaving her, no matter how dangerous their friendship it was one of the few things she had to hold onto in a city ripping itself apart. 

Back when she first arrived in Dunwall, she thought there was no possible way the city could become any worse. She’d be very mistaken.  
It could get far worse, it did get far worse. The moment rumors of plague began as whispers in the back streets, things began to destabilize like a boat taking on water. The Empress’ assassination was when it keeled sharply and everyone was pulled under. Now like the plague rats, who seemed to be crawling over every surface, everyone still alive was desperately trying not to go down with the ship by any means necessary. 

It was the scraping of a rat around their feet that pulled them both back to reality. The wretched creature ended up with a bolt through its head and a mace crashing down on its spine its viscera only adding to the slime over the floor. They circled the room to check for more vermin, or Overseers and their hounds who may have heard a commotion and come wandering closer. Persephone fixed her gaze to the walls while Cora focused her hearing. Cora decided a long time ago not to ask how her friend could seeming look through that which is solid, it was better that way if she did not know that specifics of the Mark and how it worked, it could endanger them both more. 

“Clear” they both breathed at the same time. The room was oppressive in its decay, brick dust and rot filling the air with a thick, sweet scent that clung to the tongue and coated the throat making it feel like your lungs were filling with slime. The only respite coming from the occasional river wind, the salt burning through the sweet. It took a practiced and steady stomach not to heave at the mixture. They settled on a rotting wooden bench, as Persephone looked around it became clear that once upon a time this might have been a workshop, one of the many in Holger where heretical artifacts went to die. The coarse white dust littering the surface must have been bone. They sat in comfortable silence for a while, broken only by the horn of a passing trawler and the screech of a gull. Cora eventually broke the quiet, her voice softened with concern

“How are you surviving here? We heard rumors, made predictions but nothing quite…prepared me for the reality”  
“Honestly, only just is the answer. I’ve had to default to theft for the most part, but instead of ripping off some Lord’s house filled with valuable tat, they’d never miss its picking through condemned buildings, through the trinkets of dead families. It’s fairly soul-destroying but with everything laid to waste there’s not much choice.” Persephone’s tone was strained, exhausted.  
“What about healing, midwifery?” “How do you think I pay to get supplies? The ones who can afford a doctor had the good sense and spare coin to flee. What’s left is lots of poor women growing families that will probably be dead by the next month, birth never stops but it becomes more precarious surrounded by death on all sides. I get a bit of steady income from patching up members for the various gangs around the city, it also means I can navigate in peace for the most part. The only thing that keeps you safe nowadays is having a skill that everyone needs and is terrified to lose.” “Healing or thieving?” “Both”  
“Sounds like life within the Order, we just have better food” the sharpness of the Sister’s tone catching them both off guard. “And wine, and whatever you smoke to ‘enhance’ your meditation. I’ve got to ask though, why are you here? Not that I’m unhappy to see you but I don’t understand why you’ve left the safety of Whitecliff?” Persephone wanted lightness, she didn’t want to talk about her daily horrors. What little time they could steal would not be wasted on her strife. Cora took in a deep breath like she was trying to brace herself against an oncoming wave, unsure if she was going to stay afloat “I’ve been despatched with a small contingent of Sisters, we’ve had some troubling visions…Or I’ve had some troubling visions. They’re had to explain exactly but there seems to be a great shift heading for the city, for the Empire. No one knows what path will be chosen, but it seems to be two options from what I’ve divined.” She paused, trying to figure out how to pull her words together. Outside of their quiet chapels of discussion and meditation, it’s hard to elaborate in plain terms what the Void shows them. She knew it was either destruction or salvation but explaining how she knew that how she could pull meaning from the chaos she gazed into was difficult because in the cool air of reality it felt like a fever dream. Intuition was the closest thing to a name but it still wasn’t right. Her head had dropped lower with every word she spoke, facing towards the floor. 

“The suspense is killing me” Persephone’s voice pulled her out of the reverie “Sorry, outside of the chapels, outside the Abby this can sound nonsensical”  
Her companion pointed casually to her left hand “I’m used to nonsensical at this point, also, technically we’re still in the Abby” she added in a faintly sardonic tone motioning to the grotty little building. Cora’s head turned to the glove, or at least where she knew the glove to be; she knew what was there, she remembered when the ghastly thing was branded into her skin. She should throw her to the Overseers for it but some bonds were more important that Strictures. 

“True, you’re probably more in tune with the Void than I am” “Wouldn’t go that far” she interjected, casting her gaze away from Cora into a dark corner instead, she’d hit that sore spot again. She may be part of the organisation committed to the eradication of heresy, taught about why people worshiped the Outsider, curried his favour with acts of the most abject nature. Which was true, she had seen the things Cultists were capable of, seen the path of destruction in their wake. Unfortunately, she had also seen what happens when the Void infects the lives of those who never courted it, one was sitting opposite her. 

“The city and the Empire may fall. Or it may regenerate. Either way, it starts with Campbell. We’re here in anticipation of the Feast of Painted Kettles and Dance of Investiture” she said after another long intake of air, or what passed for air in their meeting spot. 

Persephone’s gaze shot back to her, even with half her face covered it wasn’t hard to read the shock in her eyes. “What do you mean? Isn’t the Feast only called when you’re looking to appoint a new High Overseer?”  
“Yes, there soon will be a new High Overseer, that is certain. Frankly, no one in the Order is exactly that sad, Campbell, well he’s Campbell. We’ve come to liaise with the Abby, but in reality, we’re here to get a sense of who may take over before the High Oracle arrives. It’s as bigger a mess as you can probably imagine, not helped by the fact the Brothers are never that happy to see us” Cora’s head seemed to be in a permanent state of hanging in existential despair at the moment.“Yeah, I heard a few grumbling about how close to heresy you all tread. Though some seem excited, curious”  
“How much time do you spend here?” Incredulously Cora blurted out raising her head up, even without seeing her eyes Persephone could read how wide they’d become, how far her eyebrows must be raised. It was the same look she’d always given her every time she had run headlong into trouble. Cora had such pretty eyes, it was a waste to see them covered. “Too much, but the Archives are a nice break from…” she used her hand to motion at the decay around them “plus there are always things to scavenge and food to pilfer and whoever built this place obviously has no sense of what security actually means” “You’ll need to be warier, my Sisters are more perceptive that your average Overseer” she couldn’t quite keep all the fear from her voice.  
“Noted. What is going to happen to Campbell? Death by plague?” As if by perfect coincidence the scratching of another rat began to get closer to the room. “That remains to be seen, the path has not been chosen” 

Before Persephone could press further, the sound of bells began to ring out over the Abby, time was up if either lingered much longer the danger increased. Silently, the resigned themselves to their reunion cut short the one relief was being able to escape into marginally fresher air. They pulled each other close one more time, made their goodbyes and both moved towards the balcony. “Do you want a hand?” Persephone offered, as tempting as the option not to get close to the edge again was, Cora was nervous enough of her Sisters sensing out the Void on her. “No, I can make it” she answered but the look in Persephone's eye’s was doubtful  
“I’m skeptical, but if you say so. You go first, I’ll try and catch you if you drop” Cora’s stomach dropped with that last part  
“Thanks for reminding me of that outcome” Persephone could feel the glare boring into her.

Watching someone who usually has to compose themselves with such perfect control and poise shuffle, slowly and awkwardly over a rickety balcony in a place where everything else was immaculate was amusing. Stopping and starting like a malfunctioning railcar but eventually, the Oracle was back on solid ground and steeling herself to return to Holger. The last place her Sisters had seen her was exploring another workshop, questions could easily be answered with a story of getting lost in the warren of barracks and workshops. 

Persephone watched her friend put back on her Abby facade and slide back into the vipers' nest. Her gleaming white uniform blending with the white stone of the buildings. The stone had been imported in according to the records, to distinguish the Abby from the grey of the rest of the city. To keep it white required constant cleaning, the cleaning slowly eroding it away along with the salt brought by the Wrenhaven’s air to expose the dull grey under brick. There was a metaphor in there somewhere Persephone mused to herself, but tonight she was too weary to find it. It was a long journey back to the sham of a home she’d made and the rain was only getting worse.

___


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After some re-editing and re-writing, time for another chapter. I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> A small warning on some of the content of this chapter, there is lots of talk about stillbirth and pregnancy so if that's not your thing or is not something you'd like to read about this might not be for you.

The stillbirths were always the worst; at least when the child came out alive but its lungs couldn’t summon the strength to work there was a hope to breathe some life into it. The stillbirths were agonizing for all involved, hours, maybe days of blood and pain with the faint hope, a light at the end of the tunnel only to have a grey lifeless thing where a babe should be. It hurt every time she had to look into the mother's eyes, see the terror in them as the room stays silent, void of the screams of life. Void of anything resembling joy. The process trying to summon some life into the carcass, the vain hope that the heart will beat in its fragile little chest and the feeling of bile rising through her throat as the hopelessness of it sinks in. 

Not all of them cried, some screamed in place of their child, some just fell into themselves and began the process of letting the grief and trauma drown them. Maybe the lucky ones will go through this all again and be rewarded with a living child but so often she watched as a piece of the mother dies in those dark, stifling little rooms. She was certain a piece of her died there too. 

There had been two that week. Both ugly affairs and only one mother had made it out alive (if you could call it that). She patched up the physical trauma as best she could, but there was nothing she could do for the emptiness in her eyes and inevitable agony that was to come. Three days later she heard her body had washed up on the riverbank, still in the bloody nightdress, she’s birthed in. Persephone wondered if she’d carried her baby’s corpse in her arms as she jumped, it wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened nor the last. 

Nobody ever knew why it happened, unless there was some obvious deformity. Like miscarriage, there were wives tales aplenty to their causes. During her apprenticeship she’d paid little mind to them, no point speculating on something you would never know. But, there was one thing her mentor had told her which kept bubbling to the surface nowadays ‘when the scales tip too far in the favor of death, life ceases to have a chance’.  
The longer she spent in the dying city, the more prophetic it felt. 

That night she dreamt the dead mother dragged her under the waves with her. Except the waves were bodies of malice and fur, they stripped the flesh from their bones. Screaming herself awake shocked her because she didn’t know how she’d screamed with her throat torn out. 

***

“You look like hell,” said Watch Officer Thorpe said lighting his cigarette and leaning back against a light post outside his small legal district home. It was one of the few places that still looked normal, alive almost.  
“Doesn’t everyone nowadays” Persephone quipped “besides, you ain’t one to talk before this plague started you didn’t have a grey hair on you, have you looked in a mirror recently?” Thorpe was tense, or more tense than usual, she could see it in his shoulders and the distracted look on his face, even when he spoke directly to her, he seemed far away.  
He gave a small mirthless chuckle “suppose so…oh before I forget” he reached into his uniform pocket to pull out a small silver trinket and handed it over to her “from Holter, his wife, and little lad are doing well, he sent it as a thanks”  
The silver snuff box felt warm as she turned it over in her hands, being in Thorpe’s jacket had banished the usual coldness of the metal. It had some weight to it, it was valuable; fine silver with an intricate engraving of a sailing ship, she felt the valleys of the linework, smoothed with age like a stone washed over by the river for centuries. Unlike some of the more ostentatious boxes she’s pickpocketed from the wealthy, it was understated, polished to a shine even under the amber street lights. It was loved, it had been passed down through his family’s hands. She pulled over Thorpe’s empty hand and placed it back in, folding his fingers around it “No, it’s appreciated but I meant it when I said they owed me nothing” 

Thorpe deftly placed it back in her hand “he insisted, as do I. The last thing we need right now is you getting shot on one of your little excursions to the Estate district” the warning look in his eyes was enough to stop her protesting.  
“Don’t have the foggiest clue what you’re talking about” her tone light and coy as she put on the best look of complete innocence she could muster. It hadn’t been a convincing look for years.  
He just shook his head and let out a sound between a laugh and an exasperated sigh. 

“How is Maud? The last trimester can be tough on the body” her tone switched into something soft and serious. Behind them, the steps of a pair of patrolling officers walked by, they greeted Thorpe with an ‘evening sir’ and he nodded as they passed. 

Taking the last drag before he answered “she seems in good spirits. She’s certainly in pain and the baby seems to constantly be kicking. Her back and hips, she did get stuck in the bath the other day” the memory brought a little light to his eyes “she won’t stop trying to move things about though. Trying to get her to rest is damn near impossible though, don’t want her straining herself” 

“Sometimes women deal with the pain by keeping busy, she wasn’t exactly a quiet soul before this. I’ve got a balm that should help with the pain though. Going to head in and check on her, you coming?”  
“In a minute, just need some air” 

That was unusual, every visit Thorpe had been there hovering, attentive to every detail of Maud’s pregnancy. He’d lost his first wife and child, he seemed terrified of missing something and losing Maud. But tonight, something was off, he seemed barely able to focus on the present. 

She started up the steps towards the flat and his voice came cautiously “Percy, you don’t happen to know much about an Overseer Martin?” His voice was not betraying much, but there was something there.  
Turning back towards the street she leaned against the railing, arms crossed, the name turned over in her mind. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard the name outside the Abby in unexpected places, but she knew nothing of the man. It didn’t make for a good sign.  
“I’ve heard the name, but nothing beyond that. Why?” The response did nothing to the tension in the Watch Officer’s body, perhaps except add more, it wasn’t the answer he’s been hoping for. 

“No reason, just curious” he said as he dropped the long extinguished cigarette to the ground and made no move away from the post. 

***

The flat was always warm and smelt of something delicious, more so now Maud was home all the time. Usually, she would be the one fussing, looking over the mother and checking everything was in order but every time she walked in Maud would take that mantle. Sitting her down, placing a mug of whatever they had brewing in her hands before she’d manage to get a word in edgeways. She’d learned early on to let Maud have her time to mother her, it was who she was, and trying to do her job before Maud had finished checking her over was pointless. Despite her faint protests, it’s a ritual she’d come to love and was scared to lose. 

The coffee she’d given her was divine; the warmth and smell filling her nose, a few gulps, and the putrid taste of industrial air was washed away and warmth was filling her body. Persephone hadn’t noticed how cold she was, or how much her body ached until the soft sofa cushions caused her body to soften and she could feel the sharp bolts of pain in her muscles. 

“You do realize I’m here to check on you, I’m not a stray cat?” She said between mouthfuls, while Maud buzzed around the space. It was not a huge place, but it was comfortable with worn dark wood and soft drapes making it feel homely, loved. The kitchen and lounge separated by a curtain in the doorway made of a pretty green velvet, it looked like grass on a spring day and Maud’s eyes. The red-haired woman rolled her eyes as she drank down her own coffee leaning back against the door frame (something Persephone had told her to drink no more than one mug a day of, she’d mention that later).  
“Oh I’m fine, I’m safe and warm which is more than I can say for you. You look dead. When was your last hot meal? When did you sleep a night through?” She had mastered the look of soft concern with a backbone of steely authority tempered with a Morely twinge that made you want to confess all of your sins; Maud would be an excellent mother. Void help her child if it decided to be a little shit. The best tactic was to sink deeper into her drink and hope Maud’s eyes stopped boring into her. 

The baby was active, Thorpe had been right about how much it was kicking, the child would be lively and strong but she wouldn’t have expected anything less from something that was half Maud. Eight months give or take, it was hard to be exact but by the feel of things, she couldn’t have been more than a few weeks away from birth. The fear of the birth was creeping in, but Maud was strong, not malnourished and the wife of an Officer, if anyone had a chance to come out of this it would be her and her child. As she was sterilizing her tools, Persephone noticed a new addition to their room, a small cot sitting quietly in the corner. It looked antique but judging by the rest of their home, it seemed to be something the Thorpe’s have a fondness for and Persephone was cautiously optimistic about seeing their babe rocking in it soon. 

“Does he seem a bit off to you?” Maud’s voice pulled her away from the cot, her usual effervescence was gone and something much darker was pulling at her features.  
“How do you mean?” Persephone knew exactly what she meant but could feel something else there, something that needed to be teased out carefully “he could just be bored of hearing about your cervix” she added for levity; one of the pillows near Maud flew across the room and smacked her in the chest with a soft thud. The momentary lightness soon evaporated again. “He’s not been the same since he transferred to Coldridge. He’s a good man, a fair man. He used to tell me all about his days when he was on patrol. But now, he refuses to talk about it and if I try and press it he gets aggravated and short-tempered. It’s not like him. It’s been worse since he was stationed in the solitary wing” the Morley in her voice strengthened with her worry.  
“Coldridge is a tough enough gig, the solitary unit must be worse. He’s probably just trying to settle into the routine there” she mused crossing over to sit on the bed near Maud, placing her hand on hers. Maud turned her head towards Persephone, her eyes were watery and face was bringing to flush red

“It’s my fault, if I hadn’t lost my job we’d still have two wages and he wouldn’t have needed to go there” her voice was cracking under the emotion, tears beginning to leak. With the amount of Coldridge guards being taken out by the plague, they were desperate for new ones so it was one of the best paid gigs in the city, but also the most brutal. Save for being a prisoner. “Bullshit, you didn’t lose your job. Bunting is a bastard and fired you. This is not your fault, if it’s anyone’s it’s his” and Bunting was a bastard. He’d been an arse when she married Thorpe early in her tenure, the fiancee, then wife of a watch Officer is harder to try and coerce into bed. Her pregnancy was just the excuse to punish her he wanted.  
“Sorry, my emotions are getting the better of me…” she was trying her best to stifle her sobs, but the strain of holding it in was causing her body to shake, it was making the already precarious job of trying to sit herself up even harder. “Fuck sake, why is getting up so hard” she huffed with the effort of it all, Persephone did her best to assist. “You’re pregnant, all goes with the territory. Anyway, last time I was near Clavering I heard his basement had flooded and rats have taken up on the first two floors, probably better you’re away from that” Persephone stroked her arm trying in a small way to release some of the tension buried in her muscles. 

“How is Sarah? Is she still working there?” Breathless from the effort of trying to sit it all came out with a gasp “she’s got a little one” the words hung in the air. Trying to survive without a husband and a child was an uphill battle when times were good, it didn’t bear thinking about during times like these. “I haven’t seen her, as far as I know, she’s still working there” it wasn’t a total lie, she knew Bunting was still employing her but if the whispers were to be believed her duties as a maid had now taken on a more personal nature.

Panic crept back into her eyes “They’re brutal in there, we’ve all heard the stories. The regular Watchmen can be bad enough, but the stories that come out of there are worse. I don’t want to lose my husband, I don’t want him to lose himself to those brutes, I can’t lost him…” the sobs came easy and tor through her, Persephone just held her close trying to reassure her that she wouldn’t lose her husband to the cruelty of the prison. If any man could hold out, she thought it was Thorpe, but after tonight doubt began to creep into the back of her mind. The system was designed to be a meat grinder and it seemed only so long before everyone was pulverized into submission. 

Maud would not let her leave without feeding her up and insisting on her taking some with her. The lovely smell that had greeted her turned out to be a hearty stew, thick with potatoes and root veg, with chunks of fresh bread which she used to sop up the excess liquid. The spices sat on her lips and for a moment she could believe that she was no longer in the grey and dreary Gristol. Still to this day, despite her years here, she was astonished at how much the residents of this dull and uninspiring place seemed to think themselves the most superior people in the Isles. The food was tasteless, the music dull and that’s not even to consider what they thought passed as dancing. Perhaps it was the Abby, it was far more entrenched here than anywhere else in the Empire because if anything could suck the life from a culture it would be the Abby.  
Her stomach felt heavy and sloshed with its unusual fullness, she couldn’t recall when she’d eaten so well, possibly the last time she had checked on Maud. After the stew was a fruit tart and coffee, sweetness filling all her senses and it was impossible not to relax into the warm atmosphere. It felt good to eat, to be with the Thorpes. She enjoyed observing them, temporarily she felt part of a family, welcomed into their intimate world. They wore their love so openly, Maud ceasing to rest, and her husband buzzing around her constantly and doing everything he could to help when the bulk of her bump made moving difficult. Back on the beaches outside of Bastillian, occasionally turtles would wash up on their backs, rolling around their shells in the most ungainly manner, unable to right themselves. It was a memory that always brought a smile to her, and she was reminded of it every time she watched Maud get stuck on the sofa, stubbornly in refusing any help from either her or her husband until the point she’d rolled around without success for a long enough time she became aware of what a ridiculous predicament she’d got herself into. 

Walking back into the air of Dunwall took the edge of the temporary warmth and lightness that had filled her soul for those few hours. But the food in her belly steeled her against the cold of the night and hearing the pot of stew splashing in her bag pulled another smile to her face. At least she’d be well-fed for a few days. 

The road was clear, the latest patrol had just passed her. Another cursory check before she balled her hand into a fist and summond the icy hot feeling of the Void through her. As quick as the feeling of a wind cutting through her being came it passed and she was on the awning of the building on the other side of the street. The feeling of wind cut through her a few more times before she reached the roof. Looking out over the lights of the city it was easy to forget the reality of what was happening on the streets, but for tonight she just wanted to soak in the few glimpses of beauty. The snuff box pressed against her leg, so she drew it out of her pocket to look at it one more time in the glittering mix of moonlight and whale oil lamps, the little ship almost moving with the odd shadows and reflections washing over it as she turned in her hands. She tucked it safely back into her breeches and began her trek over the rooftops, feeling light for once.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day, this is getting awkwardly close to being productive...

* * *

> **“ATTENTION CITIZENS OF DUNWALL, THE OLD PORT DISTRICT HAS BEEN DECLARED A QUARANTINE AREA AND WILL BE SUBJECT TO DISINFECTION, CITIZENS ARE ADVISED TO EVACUATE THIS AREA WHILE THE CITY WATCH AND STILT WALKERS DO THEIR WORK. ANYONE HINDERING THE WORK OF THE CITY WATCH WILL BE TREATED AS HOSTILE”**

Everything about the Regency so far had been cruel and obnoxious, the worst offender the damned loudspeaker. They managed to be just obnoxious enough with their blaring horns that they never quite faded into background noise. Outsider forbid you actually manage to fall asleep, sure enough, there would be another fucking announcement to wake you.

Constant reports of the activities of the Regent, the measures in place to keep the plague at bay (which seemed never to do much good no matter what the propaganda officer said), and the encouragement to report every little thing out of place. The feeling of paranoia was oppressive, made everyone just that little more hostile.  
What the fuck did they mean by disinfect?

The question sat in her mind as she scanned the place she had called home for the last few months. With more Watch in the area, maybe it was time to leave. The hovel always seemed to be in eerie twilight, with the addition of a whale oil lamp and stove casting the space in chiaroscuro. It was small, but held a bathroom and kitchenette, once serving as servants quarters before the family fled for Potterstead, abandoning their Port District home. The backroom of the condemned building was blocked off from everything else, accessible only by a metal balcony, the back stairs long rusted away and fallen, a challenge to breach unless you could stalk your way through the rough shadows cast in the back ally it stood over. This part of the city had been mostly abandoned, save for a few people too poor or too sick to go anywhere else. There were weepers but the residents left them food and elixir. Before they had been weepers, they had been people and part of this community. Not matter how dangerous they were now, no one wanted to report them to the Watch and see them slaughtered or left to die in a hole somewhere. Best to let them die in peace in the old shop basement. By some miracle, the nearby pub still seemed to be functioning, granted if ever there was a time to take up frequent drinking it would be now.  
  
It suited her well enough, it was a safe place to sleep all things considered, which was harder to find these days and held everything she valued. Despite being sentimental, she learned long ago to only hold onto that which she could carry, everything else could slow you down and get you killed. Sat cross legged on the bed, she observed the contents of her life, the travel pack discarded on the floor nearby. Sometimes she would pack it and unpack it over and over on the nights she couldn’t face sleep, inspecting everything and placing it back where it belonged.  
Holter’s snuff-box was small but sweet, she could fence it, but it felt disrespectful so she would keep it and after some more thinking she realised that it was big enough to house some of her most potent herbs.

Placed across the surface of the blanket was a well used medical kit with some midwifery tools, dull but cared for and small jars of herbs for tinctures, balms and salves and maybe the odd poison for the right price. Pots and pans were easy enough to scavenge so no point to carry them but the herbs and the tools, they couldn’t be replaced easily. The pestle and mortar was hefty, but essential (in a pinch it could cave a skull if nothing else was to hand), running her fingers across the smooth marble bowl she felt the small inscription her mentor had scratched in when she left Bastillian.  
Was she still alive? Placing the pestle down she refused to let the thought linger.

The little soap tin had long since seen better days, dented with rust creeping into the corners but a few vestiges of the bright paint that had once covered it still remained, fragments of a bergamot fruit still visible on the lid. She opened it and was greeted by the scent of the shard of soap she had left, sunny citrus and heady spices, that lasted on her skin and hair for days. She hated the whale oil soap that was popular in Gristol, it smelt awful and left her skin both drier and greasier then before (which seemed an impossibility but alas unfortunately not), but with the blockades, her soap was getting harder and harder find (it had not been easy to source in the first place). In the houses of fine ladies she could find better soap that cleansed her without drying her skin to flakes but the fashion in Gristol was for cloying florals that clung to her and made her head ache. Her scent was a touch to foreign for the gentlefolk of the capitol. Taking one last inhale, she placed it down, fighting the urge to fill the battered tub next door.

Aside from small weapons, she only had a few bone charms and trinkets, her mother’s hairbrush and a fine hairpin she wore when she danced. The purple enamel flowers were Morley orchids, they’d looked beautiful against her sandy tresses and pale blue eyes.

Whatever light there was, the blade always absorbed every bit of it, sitting on the white sheet it looked like a knife shaped abyss. It never needed to be cleaned, nor sharpened. Any blood or viscera clinging to it seemingly absorbed into its darkness. Unlike the bone charms, it had never sung or at least if it had, the song too deep for her to hear but she could feel it pulsing and if she focused could feel the beats reverberating through her. She ran her fingers softly over the surface, the blade always felt cold, smooth as weather worn stone set into a fine onyx handle with little inlays of gold at each end.  
The Overseer she had picked it out the pocket of had been boasting it was an ornamental onyx blade, she had plenty of time to mull over his stupidity while she was in stocks.

Held in her hand, she focused on it, with the right thoughts, right concentration it would mould to her will. This stayed on her person at all times, as did the small wrist bow she’d negotiated in payment for patching up one of the more accident prone Whalers. After carefully placing her life back into the travel pack she leaned back against the lumpy pillow, letting the cool air drifting in wash over her, fingers tracing over the thin leather strap around her neck until she felt the change to carved bone. She wrapped her hand around the pendent, her father’s lucky bone charm shaped like a whale, symbols and inscriptions running over its body. Little noise from outside drifted up this far, she felt alone with her memories. All the bone charms sing their own ethereal song, be if she focused on this one enough she swore the cadence of his voice sometimes washed through.

Or perhaps, she just hoped for that.

Thorpe was still on her mind, something was wrong and she wanted to know what, if only to allay Maud’s worse fears. But, the mysteries of Thorpe’s life would remain that way unless he wanted to tell her, there was nothing she could do.

‘ _You could know if you wanted_ ’ the voice, _his voice,_ was nowhere and everywhere, filling her mind and felt like it was filling the room around. She tried to push it down, it was true, she could know if she wanted to. But she had no right, seeing into the dark recesses of someone’s mind, their soul, it felt like a violation. If people wanted to open up, that was their choice, she didn’t want to pry them open. She also didn’t want to lose herself to it.

‘ _Just because you chose to do nothing does not make your hands any cleaner, acts of omission are not that far from acts of violence_ ’ that jolted her from the sleep she didn’t know she had fallen into, hand still gripping the bone charm. Pulling herself upright, the thought lingered.  
Perhaps, she should try… Of all the gifts the Outsider’s brand gave her, the second sight was the most, difficult, the thing she had honed least. It could let you see everything, but also too much. She wondered if it was similar to what Cora experienced when she was gazing into the Void in her chapels with her Oracular sisters.  
  
She hoped not.  
  
Calling upon it made her feel like she was filled with sea water, lungs too full to breathe drawing her under. The room faded in nothingness of blues, seeing past the temples to industry and into the heart of the city itself, into the living things that flowed through it. Swirling in forms that could not exist. Another deep breath and she went further under, everything pouring into her. Searching for Thorpe in the cacophony, she tried to focus in, building a dam with a small crack to only let that flow through her. But she could not stem the flow, and more and more flowed in, everything flowed in. Things she had no right to know flowed in, things she did not ever wish to know flowed in and every moment she felt herself fade under it. More pain, hatred and fear flowed in and soon she was drowning in grief and terror of a dying world and the water turned to blades ripping her insides to shreds. Her spirit felt unmoored from her body, being pulled deeper into the depths of Void and the unspeakable things that resided there, waiting for a lost soul to consume and a body to claim as their own.  
It was only the black bile rising in her throat that pulled her back, unsure how she was in the bathroom, purging it. It felt like oil, crude and acrid, the same colour of her blade and stank like the whale corpses floating by Slaughter House Row, the taste alone kept her vomiting.

Hours could have passed in the time she was throwing it up, slowly less black came up until it was just the acid from her stomach burning her throat and nose and a thin layer of sweat clung to her freezing body. More that once she could have sworn he was laughing. She stayed on the floor for a while after the vomiting stopped, waiting for the strength to get up and drag herself to the sink. Rinsing her mouth took the worst of it, but the twang of the Void would be there for days and so began the process of rinsing it out of the ends of her hair, black sludge unmissable on the pale silver blond.  
The rings of black bleeding into her mismatched irises were receding, her pupils looked a littler larger than usual but they no longer took over her whole eye. She stared into the mirror for a while, trying to figure out who she saw in the reflection. Sometimes her resemblance to her mother, sometimes her father; one iris her blue, the other his hazel. She was all asymmetry and sharp edges, but plain enough to be unnoticeable. Except for her eyes; mismatched eyes were something that had always marked her out. Some had said it was a mark of good luck, others misfortune; as she thought back on her life so far perhaps the latter group were right. She had tried wearing an eye patch for a while, but it was uncomfortable, impractical, and usually invited more questions so she made herself as unnoticeable as she could, a shadow drifting through the world that no one could quite make out. Her eyes couldn’t draw attention if people couldn’t focus on her for too long. Looking at the black mess down her front and still clinging to her hair, she gave in to the temptation for a bath, hoping it would numb the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her belly.  
Tonight was the last night she would spend in this place.

* * *

The smell of smoke filled the hovel before it began to flood in.  
The space usually so far above the noise was not far enough to drown out the screams from the streets below. Persephone dressed quickly, the fumes singeing her nose and she grabbed the pack just as the flames began to lick around the makeshift barricade behind the door; the wood blacking and warping with every minute.  
  
Shooting from shadow to shadow until she was on the roof of the building. Looking down the side she could see the metal pipes around the outside melting and shifting with the intensity of the heat, the building would fall, flame pouring out of it. She ran, using the momentum to try and give her a chance to land on the opposite rooftop, the feeling of wind slicing through her and carrying her across the way. She came up short but managed to cling to the edge of the opposite roof; fire and hell blazing beneath her.  
Hauling herself up she looked across to the old building she’s run from, glowing with heat and moving like a dying whale. The crashing sound it made as it collapsed was too loud for her ears but it momentarily drowned out the horror below. Catching her breath she swallowed the fear and dared look down at what was happening at street level.

Tallboys, Watch Officers, bodies on fire. People on fire, the screams of pain and smell of burning meat.  
So this is what they meant by disinfect.  
Massacre.

The scraping and crashing sounds made by the inhuman metal skeletons masked the sound of the bones and bodies they crushed underfoot. Fleeing people and weepers alike hit by the incendiary bolts casting them in flames. The ones who didn’t fall running erratically and spreading the flames to those who had been missed. People were being herded like vermin, put down like rats. Everything was fire. The world was burning.

Terror held her in place, like icy bolts through her joints pinning her down. She couldn’t look away, the all too familiar feeling of vomit rising through her throat; the smell almost pushing it out of her. The noise surged again and she dragged herself back to reality. The flow of people was moving towards the alleyway outside old pump house, the butchers moving in their wake. Why were they moving to a dead end? From what she could see from this vantage point they hadn’t closed off all the side streets yet those in-front were running towards a dead end with a purpose.

The pump house; there was a hatch that went to the sewers. If they could get to the sewers they might get out. But the Watch were closing in too quick, even if they could force the hatch, the building would be burned before they all could get out. She balled her fist, the mark flared. She could at least buy them time.

Down to street level she flew, hitting each shadow until she was in the melee. There was a bottleneck forming outside the pump house of panicked people and crushed bodies, the Watch was closing the distance. Running towards the line of men firing at them, dodging through scorched flesh, dead bodies, the street slick and hard to keep balance on. She screamed at them to run, that she would hold them off, some ran, others refused. The gap was closing it was time to act; she breathed in deep, the icy hot Void flowing through her and salt filled the air.

The space between them and the Watch began to fill with a rolling fret, so thick it made the officers cough and splutter and obscured everything in front of them. Let them face their nightmares in the fret she thought as she tried to summon more than mist from the Void.

She and the remaining men took the opportunity and ran toward the pump house, people had flowed inside and they were beginning to barricade the door. The hatch was stuck, in vain she tried to help lift it off but she was just in the way, they needed brute strength. Swapping out with one of the burly laborers trying to block off the door, grabbing anything that would be solid enough to hold back the surge of Watchmen. Bricks, wood, metal, all twisted and shoved into place around the door; she could feel the fret beginning to lift, they were running out of time. Scraping metal meant the hatch had been pried open, the scramble to the sewers began against a chorus of screams. Looking back, not many people had made it, those who had now burnt and bruised. The poured into the drains, fitting as many in through the hatch that would fit. She felt a strong hand close around her arm and try and pull her into the throng, breaking free she pushed the man off. He cursed and threw his arms into the air before making his way to the hatch. She told the last men clinging to their barricade to go, to leave her to distract the Watch. No one argued. As soon as the chaos had started it was over, someone had the good sense to pull the hatch down with them, trapping her in the district.  
The fear was creeping through her veins but she could not begrudge them, if they left the hatch for her they would be found quickly. This was her choice, she would live with the consequences.

They were out, but with the sounds of officers clearing the mist, they did not stand a chance if they got down into the sewers after them. The pump house, like the rest of the district, was in a state of decay. The walls no longer looking solid enough to stand. The hatch needed to be covered, she looked at a pillar near the hatch that had been blocked by terrified people. That would do. Scrambling over rubble, circling behind it, so that the rubble would fall in the right place, she threw out a pulse of Void. The rickety pillar fell, tumbling over the grate, it wouldn’t hide the entrance forever but it should buy the residents some time to work their way through the sewer network. Only if she could keep the Watch and Tallboys at bay.

She thought to all the wives, sisters, and daughters of Watchmen she had helped, she thought of Thorpe, or Holter.

No.  
There were good men in the Watch, but that did not mean the Watch was good. If the men raining fire down on helpless people had to die to protect the fleeing residents, so be it.

The blade was tucked safely in her belt, she drew it out, pulled the scarf covering the lower part of her face tighter and prepared to fight. Vanishing and reappearing in he dilapidated roof space, she took position in one of the metal rafters and waited for the Watch to break through the barricade and the air to settle back around her, the scarf over her nose and mouth stopping the worst of the dust. Her eyes had not been so lucky and just when she needed them alert most, they watered with dust and heat. Her other senses would have to take the lead.  
The blade in her hand took on an almost liquid nature, shifting form from a small blade and growing into something else. The blackness elongated from both ends of the handle, becoming something between a staff and pike, the points too sharp to have been crafted by human hands. The grunts and curses echoed louder through the building as the barricade came tumbling down and Watch Officers swarmed in.  
  
Leaning into the Void she let the pulses of energy paint a picture of her surroundings. 2 Tallboys were outside, 5 Officers were below her.  
She counted them again, there were only 5 and they were trying to dig through the rubble over the hatch. How had so few men caused such chaos?  
  
She felt frozen in place, almost too scared to move. She did not have brute strength, but she was fast and agile and hoped this would keep her from being blown to pieces by one of their pistols. Her mind would not focus and dragged her back to a dock in Serkonos, where she saw her father's face peel away from his skull and brain erupt from his head at the end of a Grand Guard barrel, the scream rising in her throat…  
The sound of brick and rubble brought her back to reality. She was in a rafter, not a doc and her panic had caused her to lose precious time, the rubble was clearing. She held the memory of the anger she felt on that dock, burins through the terror, and let that propel her into action.  
  
  
The biggest Officer was taking the lead in excavation, before anyone had seen the staff punched straight through the top of his head, protruding viciously through his neck. A dark-clad figure standing on the man’s shoulders before it vanished in a haze of smoke as his body gave way. The Watchmen jumped back in shock, their fellow now twitching on the floor with a hole where his brain should be. Before they could react and regroup a shadow began to reap through them. Another was down with a hole through his jaw before he could react. As the lead Captain pulled out his gun to try and repel whatever was killing his squad, a flash of black fell across his arms, severing them at the elbow. As he screamed the point was shoved through the back of his neck and protruded out of his mouth.  
Three down, two left.  
  
She stayed where the Captain’s body fell, waiting for the last two men opposite to gain their senses back and advance; then they flew at her. The first man was paces away, she took the staff holding it above her and brought it down like a butchers cleaver. As it fell the rigidity vanished and it moved like a whip across the man’s front tearing through his uniform and into the flesh beneath. As she pulled it back, it tore his chest open, blood and bone exploding over everything, including her, warm thick liquid covering her face. She evaporated into smoke and his body crashed where she had stood, carried by the momentum of his run. His colleague froze with shock, the sight of the man shredded mid-pace beyond comprehension. The force of the spike forcing its way through his stomach was enough to knock him off balance. Persephone pulled it easily from him, the weapon glided through flesh like a hot knife through butter.  
  
Five men had entered the pump house. Five men lay dead in the pump house.  
There was still fire raining down from the doorway, bolts sailing through every opening. The Tallboys crashing around the street outside, they still posed a threat. The blade shrunk back into its original form in her hand. She knelt down and let the pulses map the area, every returning wave painting a clearer picture of what was going on around her. The was a ledge at their level, that could be useful.  
  
She flew out of the pump house and back into the alley, the Tallboys blocking the end. The sound of fire and metal drowned out by the blood pounding through her head like a battlefield drum. Dodging fiery bolts flying past her body, she ran in zigs and zags towards the towering metal men, who seemed confused by her apparent death wish. The metal suits were surprisingly agile for such big things, but she was more agile. She drew closer to the one on the right of the alley, the one closest to the ledge and in one breath was on the ledge, eye level with the man inside. His shock made him slow and that was the chance she needed.  
  
Launching off the ledge she flew at the man, landing on him in the suit with such force he dropped his bow. His arms we still tangled in the machine and she was already too close to him. She wrapped herself around him, forcing the small blade into the slit that exposed his eye. His twitching caused the suit to sway and jerk wildly, it took every ounce of strength to hold on; she had no idea how to operate it but that didn’t matter. The flailing suite had knocked the other one off balance. It fell back onto the whale oil tanks powering it, the force of the explosion and flames throwing the suit Persephone was tangled in out into the street, crashing down in a pile of twisted metal.

The street was a grotesque scene of charred bodies, dismembered limbs and twisted metal, painted red and orange from the flames dancing from building to building. Thick, dark smoke winding into the sky, joining the countless snake-like shapes rising from the destruction of other districts disinfected that night; they wove into each other, creating a serpentine mass in the sky hanging over the city. It looked ready to consume it.  
  
Persephone lay in the pile of twisted metal for what felt like an eternity. Her eyes strobing with after images, the brightness of the explosion had ruined her sight more than the dust and heat alone. The scarf around her mouth felt singed and there was ringing in her ears. Her body felt light, almost like it wasn’t there, but that was short-lived, the sensation of burnt skin fused with fabric began to wash over her. She tried to lift her body and the sensation almost made her puke, the blade was still sticking out of the Watchman’s eye, his body a macabre pillow on which she was resting. It took everything she had to lift her arm and pull it out.  
Slowly, she rose to a sitting position, that’s when the metal shards sticking out of her leg made themselves known. Bending forward, her skin stretching too much to be comfortable, it was a mess.  
Every movement was awful, but eventually, she pulled herself to the top of the pile of twisted metal, ears still screaming and her senses deadened. The hissing of the flying mace caught her attention as it flew into her ribs and sent her crashing off the pile of twisted metal onto the street below. Laying in the slime of the street, all the air was knocked from her body. She looked through the gaps in the metal to see the two figures marching towards her.  
An Oracular Sister and an Overseer at her heels. Cora? No, even from this distance she was too short, too blonde and she held onto the vague hope she wouldn’t try and kill her if they crossed paths in the open.

“The Abby was right to send us Brother, something here stinks of heresy” she pronounced, her voice drifting over the wasteland of the district felt too close, had a screeching tone to it, like nails against a chalk board.  
“Are you sure that’s not just the smell of dead bodies Sister” the Overseer responded, his tone too light and jovial for the scene around him.  
  
The blade in her hand meant getting up to fight. Persephone thought that was not an option right now she was barely able to drag her body into a position to see the attacker, but the wrist bow… maybe that could work.  
  
“Only something tainted by the Outsider could have downed these Tallboys, and by the looks of that movement over there, we might have found the blight” her voice sounded even worse the closer she came.  
Using the cobbles, Persephone braced her hand against one of bones of the metal skeleton and waited for them to get closer.  
  
The Sister was on the ground screaming, bolts protruding from her leg and shoulder. The accompanying Overseer advancing forward faster as she fell. She took aim and let a bolt fly, it struck his gun causing it to fly from his hand and causing him to clutch at the hand it was in.  
It wasn’t the heart she had been aiming for, but it would do, she went to fire again only for the empty click to send a spike of terror through her. No bolts left.  
  
As he was distracted, she used the time it bought to pull herself to something close to a stand and dragged herself out of his sight. Her leg couldn’t take her full weight, half limping, half grasping anything close to balance but between the disorientating flashes in her eyes pounding in her head she hit the slimy floor. Dragging herself through the muck and gore she pulled herself towards the back wall trying not to disturb the metal in her leg.  
It was a dead-end, but it was better than being on the street. The burns made her skin feel too small for her limbs, restricting her movement and exhausting her further but she got to the wall. There was so much pain, she couldn’t concentrate, the coldness of the wall the only thing grounding her to reality.  
  
Then came to thud of boots, the Overseer had found her again. She was to weak to fight him and let her head droop to the side. The blue of his coat contrasted with the orange of the sky. The gold of his mask reflecting the chaos around it. He looked like a giant as he got closer, his shadow falling over her broken form. The gun was gone, a sword in its place, grenades on his belt.  
The cold, sharp metal pressed against her face lightly enough not to cut through it, he used the tip of the sword to force her face in his direction. The metal was almost comforting in contrast to the rough grip he held her bruised jaw in, the mask too bright and reflective for her eyes, everything twisted into a mess of gold and fire.  
  
“Quite a feral thing aren’t you”  
  
Her head was jerked upwards, she couldn’t see the man’s eyes but she could feel them glaring into hers. As quick as the grip was around her jaw it was gone, the weight of her head falling forward.  
“Dragging you back to the Abby will be quite the victory for me. Not so good for you but alas, that’s not my problem” his voice was smooth, laced with arrogance. He didn’t seem to think that she posed much of a threat to him now, pacing around her and pulling a pack of cigarettes from his belt, slipping his mask up to place one between his lips. She understood that in reality, she probably did not, but that didn’t do anything to stem the white-hot anger at the Overseer, at this point she was sure she could kill him with the strength of her spite alone.  
  
As he turned away to light it, the dart shot between his shoulders. He stumbled around the alley as the sleeping mix worked its way through his veins. The last thing he felt was something smacking into the side of his head. His body slumped over in a heap, Persephone used the staff to try and keep her balance. Overseers and they’re damn hubris, just like their stupid building.  
  
The pain was everywhere. She just wanted to collapse back down onto the floor, but the sound of shouts, snarling hounds and boots were getting closer. Above there were balconies and shafts, bending and cracking at the heat, an escape route if they held.  
Pulling what little strength she had left, she forced herself to navigate upwards. By the time she got to the roof she felt flayed, the energy flowing through her felt like blades through her veins. From the roof, the scale of the purge was plain to see, every poorer district in flames. Where was there to run? No way she could make the trip to Bottle Street or Drapers ward, anyway Slackjaw and Stride were better at making wounds then treating them.  
  
Flooded District then.  
It said a lot about here that when the world was on fire and she needed a safe haven, it was a den of assassins she thought of.  
The district was close, as far as she knew she was still useful to the Whalers, to Daud so maybe there was a slim hope she would not just be killed for wandering into their territory unannounced. Straining to focus, she tried to recall the route, what had been going on last time she spoke to one of Daud’s men.  
Something fuzzy pulled at her thoughts, was it them that recently had an old military surgeon join? Maybe. If so perhaps there was the hope of someone vaguely competent sewing her up, or as they no longer needed her services, maybe she would just have a blade shoved through her.  
  
From what she could remember (and remembering her own name at this point was a strain), Daud was cold, callous and cruel but not wholly unreasonable; if she was not killed for entering their territory there was a chance he’d patch her up simply to get information or strike some kind of deal. If, they did not kill her, if she could be of use, if she could even get that far. There were many ifs.  
However, it was not like there were many choices at this point. Trying to keep her mind working between the fire and agony was hard enough, the journey might just kill her.  
  
The trip to Rudshore was beyond words, the pain was too much. Her eyes barely worked, heavy wet liquid was draining from her ears, the shrapnel sticking out of her thigh caused pain to radiate every time she moved and made staying upright a near-impossible task. Using her powers was even more excruciating, the Void shredding what little pain-free space in her body every time she called it. She misjudged her distances many times, almost fell to the river below, and in the last insult to injury was too slow to notice an angry river krust and could not move out of the path of its venom quick enough, taking a full dose to her already damaged leg.  
  
The last of Persephone’s strength and will gave out on a rooftop near the old refinery. No matter how deep she tried to breath, her lungs didn’t feel like they were filling and each breath caused the pain in her ribs to wrap around her whole middle, the pain everywhere else had distracted her from the bruised or broken rib, but now it just added to the chorus. Between the pounding in her head mixed with the screaming agony caused by overexerting her powers, her eyeballs felt like they were being pulled out of the sockets.  
The screams came of their own accord; strangled noises like a dying hound being ripped apart in a fight. Consciousness came in waves, she barely registered the unearthly noise the Whaler’s transversals made as they displaced the air. She wasn’t sure if she imagined saying the word help or actually said it.


End file.
